


A Kiss is a Secret Told to the Mouth

by HarbingerofWhimsy (WhimsicalCivet)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drunk kiss, F/M, Fluff, Forbidden Kiss, Frottage, Grinding, Hickeys, Humor, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, Language, Public Display of Affection, Resolved Sexual Tension, Shut Up Kiss, Unresolved Sexual Tension, good morning kiss, i love that that's a tag, jealous kiss, kiss prompts, outdoor kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalCivet/pseuds/HarbingerofWhimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of DA kiss prompts from tumblr, some shorter, some longer.</p><p>NSFW chapters will be marked as such.</p><p>Tags will be updated as it progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Morning Kiss (Cullen x F!Inquisitor)

**Author's Note:**

> Cullen x Female Inquisitor
> 
> Prompt: Good-Morning Kiss

Light streamed in through the balcony doors, shifting patterns of dappled gold and shadow scattering across the floor and over the bed. The room warmed slowly in the daylight, the familiar din of Skyhold waking gradually dragging her from the Fade.  
  
She buried her face in her pillow, sighing pleasantly when the arm around her waist pulled her in lazily. Still half asleep, she reached down to lace her fingers with Cullen’s where they rested flat against her belly. His mouth was open, warm breaths puffing against the back of her neck as he snored quietly, one leg shoved between her own. Rare was the morning she woke without him curled around her, Cullen transitioning easily back and forth between holding and being held. He still slept like one touch-starved after all this time.  
  
A problem she was more than happy to remedy personally.  
  
She reached one hand back to twine in his hair when she felt him stir, his breathing changing rhythm as he woke to her touch. She loved waking him like this, ensuring the first thing he felt as he came back to himself was a soft, loving touch. It was a small enough thing, but she liked to think it helped.  
  
She felt his smile against the back of her neck, the hand on her hip grasping gently to roll her over towards him. His eyes were soft, half-closed when she met his gaze. Fingers danced up her spine, playing with her hair, tugging her head back so he could kiss her sleepily, rumbling like a great cat. _My lion_.  
  
His mouth was warm on hers, his lips closing gently around first her upper and then her lower lip before she opened her mouth to him. His tongue when it met hers was lazy, languid, almost-shy touches as she scratched lightly through his curls, not yet tamed for the day and hooking insistently around her fingers. She couldn’t help but let out a sigh when they parted, smiling when she opened her eyes.  
  
He smiled back, open and free here in the privacy of their room, secure in his affections. He cupped her cheek tenderly, a thumb passing over her mouth.   
  
“Good morning, my love.”


	2. Shut Up Kiss (Cullen x F!Inquisitor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A Kiss to Shut Someone Up  
> Cullen x F!Inquisitor

“You know, I looked at the map again the other day. It _does_ look a little like a rabbit, doesn’t it?” Guinevere tilted her head where she sprawled on the bed, but Cullen refused to respond, his only answer the scratching of his quill as he stolidly worked through the reports on her desk. So determined to do his duty, was her Commander. Normally she found it admirable. Today, however, she wanted nothing more than to toss the stack into the fireplace along with his clothes. When she’d asked him to bring his work here to what was now _their_ room, she hadn’t thought he’d take her quite so literally. _Silly me_ , she thought.  
  
She rolled onto her belly, resting her chin in her hands. “I don’t suppose that can wait a few hours?” she drawled.  
  
His brow furrowed slightly, his answer slow and distracted when it came. “I’m almost done. Just a few more requisitions…” He trailed off, drawn back into numbers and signatures once more, much to her consternation. This was the first moment they’d had alone in over a week. She would not let it be ruined by the demons of paperwork.  
  
Her eyes narrowed in thought before an idea came to her. She sat up, her lips curled mischievously. She only just managed to school her tone into something more innocent. “The bridge your men built in the Emprise was rather impressive, Cullen.”  
  
An affirmative noise. More scratching of his quill.  
  
“All that stonework. It was perfect.”  
  
Another grunt.  
  
“But then, there was the Exalted Plains.”  
  
His hand paused.  
  
“Cullen,” she prodded, settling in to enjoy herself, warming to her topic. “It was basically nothing but a few planks.”  
  
Her Commander blew out a long-suffering sigh. Still doing his best to ignore her, but it wouldn’t last.  
  
“Did your men just lay down a ladder and run home for lunch?” His jaw clenched. It made her grin as she watched a flush crawl up the back of his neck. Not long now. “Or maybe,” she continued, pausing for theatrical effect, “maybe someone’s beloved military engineers just aren’t quite up to the standards of the Orlesian nobles?”  
  
Cullen snarled, shoving his chair back as he practically leapt to his feet.   
“Perhaps I should ask Josephine for help getting that elevator built in the Deep Roads,” she continued cheerfully, unphased as Cullen stalked towards her.     
  
“As if those simpering fools know anything about construction!” he spat, finally stopping in front of her. She eyed his clenching hands with barely-contained delight.  
  
“I’m sure they’ll be happy to give your men a break.” Her eyes glittered as his lip curled. “Maybe they could take the time to learn about buildi—hmmf!“ Cullen cut her off, hauling her up to crush his mouth to hers. It was far from gentle, lips and teeth tugging and biting as he silenced her. She buried her hands in his hair, twisting in the golden strands and tugging as she purred against his mouth.   
  
When he finally pulled away, they were both panting. “Stop talking, Gwen,” he rasped.   
  
“I don’t know… I had a few more thoughts on those men in the Approach. I know we were going to go with food, but Leliana’s suggestion on footwear had me thinking.”  
  
“You’re impossible,” he growled, kissing her again.   
  
“I think we should hold another ball here at Skyhold,” she whispered against his lips.   
  
The tormented sound that escaped him was music to her ears as he forced his tongue past her lips, twining with hers as he followed her down onto the bed.   
  
It was a most acceptable way to ensure her silence for the rest of the evening.


	3. A Kiss in the Rain (Alistair x F!Cousland)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A Kiss in the Rain  
> Alistair x F!Cousland
> 
> Really enjoyed this one.
> 
> Slightly NSFW.

“Ten sovereigns.”

“Four. No more, that’s my offer.”

Alistair poked his head around the shelves, wrinkling his nose as dust stirred by his passage swirled up in elegant flurries. And by elegant, he meant filthy. _Maker, this place is horrible._ Ophelia’s voice grew more irritated by the second as she haggled with the lone merchant. He meandered back towards the front of the meager shop—if it could even be called that. The only trading post on the road for two days travel in either direction, the pickings were about as slim as a Magister’s chances in a Qunari parade.  

“This pile’s worth twenty at least, and we both know it!”

“Then go find some other slob to sell it to if you and your boy are so desperate!”

“Hey!” Alistair objected, but Ophelia ignored him, shoved the items forward with a snarl.

The merchant, haggle-toothed and sneering like a troll from a bed-time story, swept the pile up and plunked his coins down. He leered at them both. “Andraste save our Teryn Loghain, and have a blessed day.”

Alistair caught Ophelia just before she leapt over the counter, sweeping her up in his arms and backing away towards the door, feeling a bit like a child who’d snatched up a flailing cat, if that cat was armed to the teeth with _daggers_. “You, Ser, are not a very nice person,” he chided loudly. “And I hope one day you wake up with a nug in your bed and your cheese larder dry.”

“I hope his _dick_ runs dry,” Ophelia added unhelpfully.

“Get out!” the man shouted.

“Right, we’re going.” He hurried outside into the drizzling rain, Ophelia hot on his heels, the two of them slamming the door shut just as something large and metallic crashed into the wood, a parting gift from their slimy friend. “Well,” Alistair said mournfully, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “There goes our hope of waiting out the rain.”

“It’s not so bad.” Ophelia pursed her lips, glancing up at the clouds, which suddenly decided that a _downpour_ was more appropriate than a _shower_. Hair plastered to her skull, it was her turn to sigh as Alistair shrugged, taking her arm in his, doing his best to keep his eyes off her now-thoroughly soaked tunic and the curves underneath.  

The walk back to camp was wet and slow, boots squishing and sloshing through mud and muck, drenching their clothes and their packs. It was all very adult and somber until he saw it…

A massive puddle.

Ophelia’s detour around said puddle was halted abruptly as Alistair dug in his heels. He grinned, waggling his eyebrows and glancing meaningfully at the puddle which was really more like a tiny pond at this point, droplets kicking up ripples along its banks as more and more water trickled in. It ran from one side of the road to the other, and stretched down the way a good hundred yards or so.

It was _perfect_.

“Alistair…” Ophelia’s tone was stern, but he couldn’t resist. “Don’t you dare!”

He leapt with all the grace of a drunken mabari. The splash of water was huge enough that his inner child, though not so inner at this point if he was honest with himself, clapped with glee. He cackled like a madman, water up to his ankles as he spun back around, throat going dry rather suddenly.

Ophelia crossed her arms, eyeing him coolly. The fresh wave of water had plastered the clothing she’d been determinedly _un-plastering_ for the entire walk. He could see every inch, every scar, every freckle; her nipples pebbled against the cold, dark shadows beneath the pale fabric. He swallowed, trousers growing tighter as she stepped forward into the puddle, face unreadable. Alistair licked his lips, unsure whether he was more terrified or aroused.

“Dearest?” he whispered, voice cracking.

She tilted her head up as she moved in close and for a moment he thought she might kiss him. Lids drooping, swaying in towards her, he spotted the mischief in her eyes too late. “Long live the king,” she purred, just before she hooked his leg and sent him toppling.

He spluttered in the water, snatching at her ankle as she shrieked. She only just managed to shake him off, laughing as she took off down the road with Alistair in hot pursuit. He chased her for what felt like days, slowly gaining ground as she dodged and ducked his grasping hands. They kicked water at one another, squelching and splashing, until he finally caught her around the waist, hauling her up against him, the both of them breathless.

“I shall now accept your surrender, my lady.” He lifted her up off her feet, pinning her arms to her side as she struggled, his hands scrabbling over skin made slick with rainwater.

“Never!” she cried. “All hail Orlais!”

“Oh, _oh,_ darling, that _wounds_ me.”

“Aw, would you like me to make it better?” She leaned in, and, yes, he was _certain_ she was going to kiss him this time; he’d have bet an entire cheese larder on it. And then his foot slipped in the mud hiding at the bottom of the puddle.

This time, her shriek as he sent them both crashing to the ground was _not_ a playful one. Neither was her groan as he landed on top of her. He lifted his head from her breasts blearily, shaking water out of his eyes.

“That hurt,” she groaned, head plopping back into the water. “Ok, Alistair?”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer, enthralled by the woman beneath him. Her shirt had ridden up, skin chilled to the touch where his hand gripped her bare waist as he lifted himself up onto his elbows. Her eyes were bright and sparkling and the grin she shot him was relaxed and open, stripped of all the masks and roles she wore around anyone but him. His heart swelled, the words heavy on his tongue once more. But he couldn’t say them… not yet. So he kissed her instead.

Crushing his mouth to hers, swallowing her startled laugh, he lifted his hands to cup her cheeks, gentle as a prayer. She opened to him readily, and the heat of her tongue was a delicious contrast to the cold of the water around them as arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in close. _Maker’s breath, I could stay here for days_ , he thought as he worked his way down from her mouth, chasing droplets across her jaw. Her skin tasted different with the rain and he found himself lapping it up from her throat, fascinated by the novelty, swiping up the beads of water wherever he found them. Rain continued to pour down, ensuring a ready supply for his study.

“Alistair?”

“Hm,” he nosed along his neck. “Fi…”

“Are you… Are you actually trying to dry me off with your _tongue_?”

He nipped lightly, taking a brief detour to her collarbone where water had gathered in the hollow. “That depends,” he mumbled against her skin. “Is it working?”

She shivered beneath him, lifting her legs to tighten around his hips. “Not really, but that’s no reason to stop.”

He flushed, more aware than ever of their position, him cradled between her legs. The water suddenly didn’t feel cool enough as she rocked up, sending a rush of heat through him, his eyelids fluttering. Visions sparked in his mind, images he’d never seen but _wanted_ , her bare skin in the firelight as he stripped her of her wet clothes, her beneath him, his name whispered in the dark. He shuddered at her soft whine, an instinctive roll of his hips pressing them closer. _Get a hold of yourself, Alistair_.

“We should head back,” he mumbled, staggering to his feet. Hopefully, the cold rain would give him time to cool down before they made it to camp again, or he’d never hear the end of it. He offered a hand to Ophelia, helping her to her feet. Her grateful kiss to his chin had him sighing, the swipe of her tongue tasting the rainwater for herself doing little to help the precarious situation in his trousers.

“So,” she said, arm once more linked with his as they fall into stride. “I’ll scratch ‘muddy puddles’ off the list of places for your first lamppost licking, hm?”

“Probably a good idea. You’ll have to wine and dine me first, I’m afraid.”

“Of course, my King.”


	4. In Front of Everyone (Cullen x F!Inquisitor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen x F!Inquisitor.
> 
> Prompt: Kiss In Front Of Everyone
> 
> SFW

_She should have been here by now._

Cullen spent all day glancing out his window, watching the gates, pacing the battlements. Two months was one of the longer stretches of time she’d been gone since their relationship began, and he’d found himself grating, chafing at a million small things that had once been so normal: the cold bed, the relative silence as he stripped and cleaned his gear in the evening. His nightmares had been quick to take advantage of his empty bed, chasing him from its relative safety once her scent faded from the pillows, leaving him to prowl the battlements until the dawn light banished the demons that haunted him.

The evening bell tolled and he forced himself back to his office. As he stripped off his gloves and tugged loose the straps of his armor, he couldn’t help but go over her marked path again on the map he’d spread over his desk to follow her journey: little red pins pressed into the Mire, the Hinterlands, and Crestwood—the last a spontaneous decision not initially planned. He knew as he pulled out her most recent letter to him that it would say the same thing it had the last ten times he’d read it. He couldn’t help himself, spreading it flat on the desk, narrowing his eyes at the parchment as if he could frighten it into giving him more information.

_“More trouble in Crestwood, supposedly. What a surprise. I know you’ll hate this, but I’m going to head there after the Hinterlands. If it is what they say it is, it shouldn’t take long. Plan for five days here to investigate and deal with it before I head back, perhaps sooner if this is nothing but a goose chase. I know it’s longer than we wanted, but at least we’ll have one less problem that can pull us apart for a bit. I’ll write when I know for sure._

_And please stop glaring at my note. I’m not there to smooth out the wrinkles you get in your forehead when you do it._

_-G”_

“I do not,” he muttered before letting out a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to stem the oncoming migraine. No doubt she’d come crawling into bed with him tonight, all warmth and soft skin, possibly still coated in road grit depending on how tired she was. And then she’d chide him for his worry before draping herself over him and passing out, mumbling until the very last moment when her breathing finally evened out.

Maker’s breath, he _missed_ her.  

Two more days came and went with no word on the Inquisitor or her party. He gave up trying to work, of half a mind to take a horse and go _find her_ _himself._ Only Leliana’s assurance that her spies were now searching held him back.

“Besides,” the spymaster added gently. “It would hardly do if she arrived while you were gone, would it not? Let my people find her.”

His hands clenched on his sword hilt, a nervous tic they both ignored. “She should have sent word by now,” he muttered. “She’s never this late without sending a bird. Something must have happened.”

Leliana pursed her lips but didn’t reply, her silence more telling than anything she might say.

A scout came in on the fourth day, one of Leliana’s people. Cullen’s blood ran cold at the small, wrapped bundle the man carried.

“One of the ravens,” the scout said nervously, no doubt unused to delivering reports in the presence of both the Spymaster _and_ the Commander, who’d all but camped out in the Rookery as he waited for word. The young man—who couldn’t be more than nineteen at the most—tugged the edges of the fabric open, revealing the shredded, half-eaten remains. One leg and part of a wing, a few black feathers stained with red dye, were all that was left.

“Did you find anything else?” Leliana said quietly, taking the bundle with a delicacy that belied the neutral expression on her face.

The scout nodded, and Cullen surged to his feet as the man pulled out a small leather tie and half a metal message tube the bird had been carrying. “There has to be more!” he growled, striding forward to snatch the tube from the scout’s hand.

He turned it over desperately, shook it to loosen anything that might be inside, but there was nothing. His hand closed around the tube, faltering at the sympathetic look on Leliana’s face. He shook it off. _No, it doesn’t mean anything._ “Where did you find it?” he said finally, tucking the metal safely into his pocket.

“Just outside Crestwood, Commander,” The scout said. “I asked around. They’ve not seen her since…”

Cullen narrowed his eyes as the scout trailed off.

“Go on,” Leliana said grimly. “We need to know.”

The scout refused to meet Cullen’s eyes, swallowing audibly before he answered. “There was a dragon, Ser. They haven’t seen her since.”

* * *

By the time she was a week overdue, he was _frantic_. He slept only in short bursts: never more than an hour before he was back on the battlements, scanning for those familiar four specks. He ate just enough to keep himself upright.  He appeared at the gate like a specter for every new arrival, bloodshot amber eyes desperately searching for her face. The guards quickly organized new patrol routes to give their Commander his space when he took to pacing the battlements like a caged lion, eyes ever on the distant horizon. Only the fear that he might miss her if he left kept him chained to Skyhold.

Twelve days after the Inquisitor was supposed to have returned to Skyhold, the horn sounded. Cullen cursed the Rookery’s distance from the courtyard as he abandoned his interrogation of a messenger, tearing down the stairs like a madman, hope and fear both warring in his gut as he joined the curious throng shuffling out the main hall. He lasted only a minute before he swore and began to shove his way through, trusting Josephine to handle whatever diplomatic incident would occur upon his knocking down some Teryn’s cousin as he took the steps two at a time.

It only got worse as he approached the gate, and he _couldn’t see_ over the mob’s head, the riders dismounted and out of sight, the chatter around him nothing but white noise as he fought his way forward. When he finally broke into the open space around the riders, he froze.   
  
“Cullen,” Guinevere rasped. She was dirty, hair and freckled skin streaked with grit and dust. Her braid had partially unraveled, a little shorter than it had been, the ends blunt as if they’d been singed.

His pulse hammered, a roaring in his ears.

 _Alive_.

She stood awkwardly beside her horse, favoring one ankle, a dreadful, healing gash along her cheek. And then… she smiled at him, lifting one hand, beckoning him as she passed off the reins to a stable hand with the other.

 _She was alive_.

He was on her before he knew what he was doing, cradling her face in his hands and pressing a fierce kiss to her mouth, rocking her back on her feet. She threw her arms around him, a soft, muffled murmur against his lips as she pulled him in close, hands fisting in his fur mantle. His mind spiraled over and over the same thoughts, _she’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive_ , an endless cycle as he held her against him, reassured himself with the warmth of her lips, his passion matched only by her own.

“I’m alright. Cullen, I’m alright,” she whispered against his mouth, barely able to get the words out before he kissed her again, his touch abruptly gentling. He inhaled slowly through his nose, letting her scent and her touch soak in, her taste as his tongue brushed alongside hers, refusing to let her go completely when they finally parted for air, Cullen gasping as if he’d been trapped underwater. And maybe he had been, he thought, as he rested his forehead to hers, his eyes closed, lips still so close to hers, he could revel in the little puffs of her breath along his skin as she panted.

Someone whistled and his eyes shot open.

The crowd was… _cheering_?

“Now that’s a ‘hello!’” Iron Bull hollered.

Face burning, Cullen lifted his head, Guinevere burying her face in his mantle with a grin, her hands still wrapped tight in the fabric of his surcoat. He leveled his best glare at the crowd, noting some of the sour-faced nobles who looked jealous rather than titillated, though of him or Guinevere, he couldn’t be certain.

“Don’t you all have things to do?” he barked, his patience worn so infinitesimally thin, it was transparent. 

Josephine’s voice rose up immediately, soothing and diplomatic. “What the Commander _means_ is, he has a great many things to discuss with the Inquisitor.”

“Is that what they call it?” someone shouted.

“Keep talking,” Cullen snarled, taking a step towards the voice. “And I’ll run your insides through your—“

Guinevere’s hand caught his chin, twisting him back towards her before her lips were once more on his. “Let them talk,” she whispered, watching him closely as his eyes softened, swallowing the sigh he breathed against her mouth as the crowd took to whistling once more. “I have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always with the dragons, these two.


	5. Accidental Kiss (Alistair x f!Cousland)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair x F!Cousland  
> Prompt: Accidental kiss.
> 
> This one gave me a little trouble, trying to figure out how to get these two dorks to mash their lips together. 
> 
> I think it went well.
> 
> It also makes me want to write something far dirtier about them.
> 
> SFW

Cold.

She _hated_ the cold.

Ophelia huffed, curling up tighter under what felt like a far too meager pile of blankets. Marching, fighting, _existing_ in the cold was one thing. Andraste’s ass, Fereldens were practically birthed in the snow, to hear them tell it, complete with a premade set of snowshoes, a love of hounds and an equally ferocious hatred of Orlesians. Trying to sleep when it felt like her toes were about to fall off was another matter entirely, however: her limbs a victim of a sudden, early spring cold snap.

She narrowed her eyes at the mabari where he lounged on the other side of the tent, tongue lolling, cheerful as could be in his coat of fur. He always curled up over her feet, a warm and slightly smelly comfort, when she crawled into her bedroll for the evening. Yet tonight he’d snubbed her blankets to lay in the dirt instead. _Suspicious. What’re you up to?_ Still, one more try couldn’t hurt.

“Bear…” she cooed. His ears perked at her soft whistle. “Bear, come lay on my feet. Please?”

He stood, tiny stub tail wagging as he approached. “That’s it,” she encouraged. “Good dog, good—hey!” Her coos turned into a howl of frustration as the dog snatched up the corner of her blankets in his jaws, yanking them away and dashing out of the tent, fabric snapping behind him like a cape as she scrambled to follow.

Her teeth began to chatter as soon as she left the relative warmth of the tent, scowling at her hound, who now stood in front of Alistair’s tent, tail still wagging. She bared her teeth at him, curling bare toes against the frozen earth, rubbing her hands over her arms as the chill seeped quickly through her clothes, goosebumps racing along her skin. “As if you need another blanket,” she hissed.

He stared, unmoving and seemingly unrepentant.

She took a step, then another, reaching slowly, cautiously for the blanket. Only when her hand had gripped the fabric solidly did he move: straight into Alistair’s tent, yanking her in along with him.

It was her turn to freeze once she was inside, staggering to keep her footing as Alistair startled, jerking upright from his bedroll at the intrusion. “Fi?” he groaned, lifting a hand to rub at his face. “What are you—“

 _Oh._ She blinked, his voice fading out as he continued despite her inattention. It was… warm in his tent. Far warmer than her own, to be certain. It made sense, of course. Alistair always seemed to run hot, a living, breathing fireplace that she’d taken advantage of multiple times, letting him warm her hands or throw his arms around her in what she told herself was a _completely platonic way_ as she happily leeched his body heat. He was probably ridiculously warm under those blankets.  

 _“Fi.”_  
  
She blinked, shivering a little as the thought of crawling under Alistair’s blankets and maybe under him, too, fluttered briefly through her mind before she forced herself back into the moment. Alistair grinned smugly at her, one brow raised. “I said, ‘are you _cold_?’”

“I’m not…” She frowned at him, glancing at Bear, already settling down in the corner and looking _just_ as pleased, if that was possible. “I came over to see if I could…” She faltered as Alistair’s smile grew wider before she finally spat out the words: “ _Yes_ , I’m cold.”

“Well, what are you waiting for then?” Alistair patted the bedroll. “I promise I won’t bite.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to make this a—“

“I warmed the blankets over the _fii-iire_ …” he sang.

She crossed the tent in two steps, practically throwing herself under the blankets, ignoring Alistair as he snickered. She resisted the urge to moan at the warmth, blankets and Alistair’s body heat leaving the little nest perfect and toasty. She snuggled down up to her nose, basking in the scent of metal and pine, leather and musk and, impossibly, a faint hint of Ferelden cheddar. She blinked up at Alistair as he leaned over her. “Comfortable?”

“Maybe,” she muttered, her pride still stinging as he settled down beside her. His face came dangerously close to hers considering how slowly they’d been taking things, the rose a constant reminder at the bottom of her pack that despite their flirtations and his gift, they had yet to kiss, or truly embrace in any way deeper than platonic. Waiting had never _been_ so trying.

“We could… you know, I read once that…” It was her turn to arch a brow as he fumbled, his face going red as he gestured between the two of them.

“Cuddle for warmth?” she said slowly, lips quirking in amusement.

“It’s a very—” He coughed, trying to sound imperious. “A highly, _highly_ , recommended tactic for fighting off the cold, I’ll have you know. Secret templar trick. I’m very noble for sharing.”

“You won’t like how cold I am,” she warned as he scooted closer, settling a hesitant arm around her waist.

“It can’t be that bad.”

Ophelia shoved her bare, frigid feet against his. Alistair yowled, recoiling from her and immediately attempting a retreat across their tiny battleground of blankets. “Andraste, woman! Your feet are like ice blocks!”

“Oh no you don’t!” She rolled after him, determined more than ever to steal the heat radiating from her fellow Warden now that she’d gotten a taste of it. “You’re not getting away so easy!” They struggled under the covers, Ophelia ending up on top of him as she wormed her icy fingers through his half-hearted defenses, groping them across the hot skin of his belly with delight as he wavered between laughter and dramatic howls that were more suited to Orlesian theatre than someone being tickled. His body writhed, muscles jumping under her chilly hands.   
  
“Alright, alright!” He flailed his arms up at her, eyes tightly closed as he continued to giggle. “Peace! You evil woman!”  
  
Her hands and feet were blessedly warmer as she leaned over him, though she kept her fingers curled against his abdomen in warning. She was almost nose-to-nose to him when she finally paused, wanting to see the surrender in his eyes. “You admit defeat, my lord?” She tilted her head.

The corner of his mouth twitched, the only warning she had before he surged up, attempting to unseat her from his waist. He must not have realized how closely she’d moved in, however, because the next thing she knew, his mouth had crashed into hers.

They both froze, lips slotted together as his eyes snapped open in shock. Ridiculously, her mind couldn’t help but catalogue the sensations: the softness of his lips, slightly chapped; the rasp of stubble against her skin; the way his mouth opened in surprise, unintentionally parting hers, the softest ghosting of his breath drifting across her palate. He swallowed, and she could have sworn she felt the briefest touch of his slick tongue along her upper lip, caressed between his, as he only just resisted the instinct to lick his lips.

Warmth, heat, fire flooded through her, no ice left now. She was close enough to watch his pupils expand, dilating, blowing wide inside the honey brown of his irises. She could feel his body’s reaction between her legs where she straddled him even as he pulled away. Alistair’s cheeks flushed a furious red, and he refused to meet her eyes.

“Well,” he muttered, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. “That was… smooth of me.”

She rubbed her palms across her thighs, soothing herself even as she tried to do the same for him. “I didn’t mind, Alistair,” she said.

“But that _can’t_ be our first kiss!” he groaned, flopping back down to the bedroll, throwing a hand over his eyes. “It’s all wrong. I didn’t even do it on purpose!”

_Oh, Alistair. You hopeless romantic._

She stretched out thoughtlessly, sprawling on top of him as she folded her hands, resting her chin on his chest. She wasn’t quite willing to relinquish his warmth just yet. “Then this kiss never happened,” she said solemnly, as if she weren’t resisting the urge to burrow under his clothing and discover if _every_ part of him was this warm or if he would giggle the same way with her lips, tongue, _teeth_ on his belly rather than her fingers. He uncovered his face, frowning down at her as he twisted one arm behind his head.

“Can you actually do that? Just wave your hand,” He demonstrated, sweeping his arm grandly, “and poof! No kiss?”

“What kiss?” She arched a brow.

“The one we just—ooo- _ooh_ , I get it. Sneaky.” He winked at her. “Alright, point made. All is forgotten.”

She shifted, about to respond when she heard him squeak, his hands jumping to her hips to still her.

 _Oh yes… that_.

She slid off him as carefully as she could, biting her lip at his sigh of relief.

“Could we forget about that, too?” he muttered.

She nudged him onto his side as he grumbled, facing away from her, letting him preserve at least some dignity, as she curled up tight against his back, curling her legs up behind his. She threw an arm over his hip, pressing her nose to the—very hot, very red—back of his neck, making him shiver and protest at the cold.

“It would be a little _hard_ to forget,” she said.

“Oh! That was _bad_. You’re a bad person.”

Something plunked solidly against the tent, followed by a cross female voice, dripping with irritation: “If you two and your puns are _quite finished_ , some of us are attempting to sleep.”

“She’s going to turn us into toads, I think,” Alistair whispered.

“I’ll protect you if she does,” Ophelia mumbled.

“My hero.”


	6. Kiss In The Wilderness (Alistair x f!Cousland; NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kiss in the Wilderness  
> Pairing: Alistair x F!Cousland
> 
> First NSFW of the bunch for woodland hijinks and grinding.

"You can admit it, darling. We're lost."

Ophelia wrinkled her nose, determined to ignore Alistair as long as possible, squinting through the trees at what appeared to be the mountains in the distance. That was all fine and well, aside from the fact that the craggy peaks were in the wrong place. And if the mountains were in _that_ direction, that meant they'd been walking the wrong way.

"Bloody Brecilian forest," she muttered. That was the _last_ time she took directions from a talking tree. And honestly, what had she been expecting? Rhyming sylvans, forests that rearranged themselves. She wouldn't be surprised if an old man popped out of a tree stump to ask her a riddle at this point. How on earth were they supposed to find their way to the Dalish camp now?

What she _needed_ was height.

She let her pack drop with a _thud_ as she approached an old oak, Alistair trailing along behind. She was fortunate he was the _only_ one who'd followed her, the rest of their companions settling in near a creek while she got a better sense of their surroundings. Despite their current navigational issues, she found herself relaxing with Alistair, able to pretend—at least for a little while—that they were just two lovers out in the woods.

She kicked the oak lightly, _just in case, fucking sylvans,_ before tugging off her gloves.

"You're not going to climb that, are you?" Alistair's eyes tracked up the tree slowly.

"We need a better view," she said grimly, testing the strength of one of the lower branches. The ominous creak had her moving on to another. "You just worry about keeping something from climbing up after me."

"Oh, sure. Human meat shield; how could I forget?"

The next branch was solid, bulky: plenty sturdy enough to hold her weight. Before she could swing up, however, two strong arms twined around her waist, Alistair's voice playful in her ear, _"Allow me_."

He lifted her slowly. The branch was easily within her reach just standing on the ground, but she played along, reaching up to grasp the limb of the tree. She pulled herself up _just_ as slowly, Alistair keeping his hands on her as long as possible, a warm slide of gloved fingers, a brief clench on her thighs that she could feel even through her traveling leathers.

"Tease," she huffed, though not without humor, a brief throb between her legs as she began to climb. "Keep that up, I don't care where we are. I'll knock you down and take care of your first time right here."  
  
His nervous laugh followed her up, and her glance back down showed his face had gone red. He grinned up at her, looking younger without his armor, in his own set of worn traveling leathers. "You say that like I can help being so charming and— _Maker's breath!"_ She smirked as he choked, taking another leap to the next branch. "Be careful up there!"  
  
A cool breeze, heavily scented with new wood and rain, heralded her arrival into the upper canopy. She tugged the last few branches away, sap sticky and amber on her hands, not quite willing to climb _all_ the way up, because then the branches really _would_ break. She drew in a deep breath, sun warm on her face as she just soaked in pure, un-tinted sunlight for a long moment.  
  
"See anything up there? A fire, a sign, one of those giant spiders we always seem to find?" Alistair called.  
  
Ophelia blinked, fingers clenching around a branch. “Don’t even joke about that,” she muttered to herself.  
  
The faint smell of cooking food drifted by, and she could just make out the distant plume of smoke rising from multiple campfires, winding up above the trees and charring the otherwise unmarred sky in a thin streak. She took a brief glance up at the sun to confirm the direction before she was dropping back down, beginning the downward climb.  
  
Alistair was pacing at the bottom of the tree, stopping now and then to fidget as he watched her, growing more at ease the closer to the ground she came.  
  
Ophelia paused two branches from the ground, smirking down at him, his head just level with her dangling ankles. He raised a hand, wrapping loose fingers across her calf. She leaned forward, chuckling as he instinctively braced himself to catch her as she teetered.  
  
And then, she just... stopped, couldn't help but watch him. His hair, glinting red-gold in light that made it through the trees, looking soft and thick. She wanted to run her fingers through it, listen to his sigh of pleasure. His eyes were darker than usual, honey brown deepening as he smiled crookedly at her. She reached down to cradle his cheek fondly, brushing a thumb over his lips, heart fluttering as his lips pursed to kiss it.  
  
_Andraste_ , she loved this man. She wished she could tell him, but... not yet.  
  
When she didn't move further, he arched a brow. _"Yeee-eees?"_  
  
"Right," she said. "Coming down."  
  
He lifted his hands and it was silly, _absolutely silly_ , and if anyone else had been around, she wouldn't have done it. Fortunately for them, they were alone, so she scooted forward and let him catch her around the waist as she dropped. He took her weight easily, turning the fall into a slow slide instead until her feet were on the ground, her body barely a hairs-breadth away from his.  
  
"Hello again," he murmured, dropping his head to touch his lips affectionately to hers.

She sighed, lifting her arms to twine around his neck, one hand twisting in his hair. His tongue was gentle, a soft swipe across her lips in askance before she parted them happily, letting him delve into her mouth to explore and slide his tongue hotly against hers. _He's getting better_ , she thought, melting against him as he herded her backwards against the bark of the oak tree.  
  
He'd been fond of this from the beginning, kissing her, and he took his time now, mouth slow and languid. He caught her lip lightly between his teeth, making her gasp his name. He groaned at the sound, the kiss taking on a touch of hunger, his fingers clenching at her hips.  
  
"Alistair," she managed between kisses, the slick slide of his tongue, her voice breathless.  
  
"I love the way you say my name," he rumbled, pausing to suckle on her lower lip, making her moan. When his eyes met hers, his pupils were blown wide, the honey disappearing into black. His head dipped again, dropping open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, heading towards her throat.  
  
"We're in the woods," she murmured, twisting to nibble lightly as his ear. She might as well have had her lips around his length the way he shuddered so violently, his mouth open and slack against her skin. She took advantage of the pause, lifting a leg to hook around his waist, encouraging him to settle more firmly between her legs. Without their armor, he slotted in nicely, warmth flooding through her. "And here I was under the impression you were an innocent vi— _ah! Alistair!"_  
  
His tongue lapped at her throat, soothing the bite before he buried his face against her neck with a tortured groan. " _Fi,_ you smell so _good_ …"  
  
She lifted her other leg, his hand dropping to her thigh to hitch her up eagerly. As he pressed forwards, she rocked against the hard length inside his leathers. Even with the leather between them both, the clumsy pressure was a blessing against her core. The roll of her hips had his breath hitching, his startled whisper of, _"Oh, Maker,_ " just fueling her further as he ground back instinctively, sparks lighting behind her eyelids.  
  
“Do you want to stop?" she gasped. She had to know, had to be sure even as her core throbbed, begging for the relief potentially standing just in front of her.  
  
He giggled, high and frantic, finally lifting his head from her throat as his hands clenched tighter on her thighs. "That's not _exactly_ the word I would use, no. Unless, I mean, if you want to. Stop, that is."

"Not the word I’d choose, either." She whimpered when he thrust experimentally against her, his eyes snapping shut as he hissed. She wondered if he could feel the heat, the _wet_ of her through the leather of his trousers. She could certainly feel _him_ , good and heavy between her legs, her thoughts fluttering away on sinful butterfly wings.  
  
"Any word in particular you'd like to borrow?" he slurred, drunk with unexpected pleasure, his nose brushing hers. “I have _lots_ of other words.”  
  
"Two, in fact," she growled, dragging his mouth back to hers. " _Kiss me.”_  
  
The grinding, steady rhythm he started with his hips as he kissed her, hungry and wet, had her head thudding back against the bark, Alistair was nothing if not eager to please, after all. She tightened her legs on his hips, grateful for the material protecting her spine when she heard the quiet grating of her leathers scouring the bark as his larger body rocked into her smaller one. Alistair shifted, the angle changing and she whined, fingers tightening in his hair when he bucked.  
  
“Oh, Andraste, _Fi_ , that feels _so_ —“  
  
_He's a quick learner, too_ , she thought as Alistair repeated the motion, delighting in her reactions, her moans, his pace quickening until he was rutting her against the tree, his own gasps harsh in her ear. Her heart was pounding, the scent of sap and metal inescapable around her. The pressure, the friction she needed toyed with her, frustratingly inconsistent as they ground against each other. She scrabbled at his back, mindless, the coil tightening in her belly as her muscles tensed. She covered his mouth with hers desperately, needing to feel and taste him, their kiss made sloppy with pleasure as the seam of his trousers caught _just right_.  
  
His eyes opened, meeting hers.  
  
Burning. Burning, racing little streamers of delicious fire spreading outwards from her core. She went stiff in surprise, keening into his mouth, toes curling in her boots. His continued movements only dragged out her climax further.  
  
_"Oh,_ " he whispered, eyes wide. “ _That’s_ what it looks like when you—” he trailed off into a moan, his rhythm faltering. He whined brokenly, dropping his face to her shoulder, his panted breathes heavy and harsh against her skin, hips stuttering, jerking. The tail end of her orgasm leaving her muscles lax, she turned to mouth at his ear, clumsily sucking the lobe between her lips. His teeth bit down on the junction between her shoulder and neck, muffling a startled shout that sounded like her name as he came, shivering under her hands.  
  
Alistair slumped forwards, barely able to keep them both upright as they panted, sagging against the tree. He eventually let her legs down, but he kept his head low. If he were a dog, he’d have had his tail between his legs.  
  
“Sorry,” he mumbled. If the back of his neck was any indication, she thought, his face must be a truly spectacular shade of red.

“My fault,” she said, the looseness of her muscles warring with her blossoming guilt. She was the one who knew better, after all. “I should have stopped us sooner.” Doubt, an unexpected feeling for her, welled up in her gut, chasing away the lingering pleasure.  
  
“Are you angry with me?” she asked quietly.

 _That_ got him to look at her. His brow furrowed as he lifted a hesitant hand to her cheek. “Why ever would you think I was angry with you?”

She glanced down between their bodies meaningfully.

“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat before he sighed, resting his forehead to hers. “I’m a little… embarrassed. But not… not angry, Fi. Besides, this, ah, doesn’t count. Right?”

“Of course not,” she said, relief softening the kiss she pressed to his lips. “All forgotten, just like before.”

“Well, maybe not _all_ forgotten,” he said. “Maybe we could just call this a… a…”

She couldn’t help herself. “A _hard_ lesson to learn?”

He guffawed. “I was going to go with _‘youthful indiscretion_ ’ and make some comment about never being too old to learn. But you, you just… Fi? Why did your face go all frowny?”  
  
Sap. She’d had sap on her hands. And she’d had her hands in his _hair_.  
  
She reached up to poke carefully at the knotted strands, wound into angry spikes where her fingers had clenched. Her skin came away tacky, taking a few of his hairs with it, making him yelp. He gaped at her in dawning horror. “Did you get that in my _hair_?”  
  
_“Wardens! Where are you, my little lovebirds? The day grows short!”_  
  
Alistair’s eyes widened as Zevran’s voice drifted through the trees.  
  
Ophelia patted him on the cheek, not unkindly, with one sticky hand. “How do you feel about jumping into the creek we saw earlier?"


	7. Jealous Kiss (Cullen x F!Inquisitor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jealous kiss  
> Pairing: Cullen x F!Inquisitor.
> 
> Winter Palace shenanigans.
> 
> Who's more jealous? Does it really matter?
> 
> SFW-ish.

Cullen, as always, looked spectacular in his finery. The tailors had done a marvelous job: the trousers clung tight to muscled legs while the red coat nipped in at the waist, showing off his slim hips. The gold lines along the top only accentuated his broad shoulders, the colors rich and vibrant against his skin. In the soft candlelight of Halamshiral, he was a vision.

Too bad she couldn’t enjoy it.

Guinevere waggled gloved fingers at Cullen from across the great hall, catching his eye, barely able to see him through the bright silks and Orlesian masks that flowed and eddied between them like a perfumed, catty river. Her sympathetic smile twisted into a frown when she saw him stiffen, his brow furrowing as he turned to a noble whose hands had disappeared behind _her_ Commander.

Her nostrils flared and she forced herself to turn away, plastering a smile on her face as she returned her attention to the man in front of her, who was practically bursting at the seams in his own suit. The large mask made him seem owlish, giant watery eyes peering at her behind silver metal. “I’m sorry, Duke Bouchard. I’m afraid I missed that.” It was all he needed to hurry back into his monologue, giving her a welcome moment of peace in her own mind as Josephine’s warnings rang firmly in her ears.

 _“Do your best to_ mingle _, Inquisitor. Remember that, in Orlais, even those who are taken behave as if they are available over the course of the ball.”_

A hand from somewhere behind feathered over the skin of her back, revealed by her dress. Guinevere’s smile flattened. She only just stopping herself from snapping. She should consider herself lucky, of course. Cullen had been fielding the most… _attention_ over the course of the evening—despite her repeated attempts to run some of the nobles off. _Maker, do I have to piss on him to make my point?_ She’d been left relatively free to move around the palace as she sought out the assassin. She’d only had to dodge groping hands perhaps a dozen times.

 _Still_ , she thought as the hand finally retreated. _They could do with a reminder_.

Laughter on the other side of the Hall, drawing her eye. Something snarled inside her chest when she saw Cullen again, his face flushed, mouth pinched, clearly embarrassed as the nobles tittered at his reaction. Eyes meeting hers again, he gave a tiny shrug just as the Duke behind her settled a hand on her waist to squeeze through the dark silk.

Cullen’s eyes tracked the movement, his lip curling. The look he shot her, a slight tilt of the head and a raised brow, spoke as clearly to her as if his mouth had just brushed past her ear: _Are you alright?_

She grimaced when the hand dropped lower to the swell of her hip, lips pursed as she nodded her head the tiniest fraction. _Not happy, but alright_.

The Duke leaned in behind her, breath damp and sticky on her neck. He smelled like old oranges, the perfume thick and cloying as he toyed with the fabric of her dress. “What draws your eye, my dear?”

Cullen’s mouth moved, a few words spoken to his flock of admirers. His eyes never left hers as he broke away from the group, away from the wall he’d been standing at nearly all night,  striding firmly around the banisters, heading straight for her.

Her heart began to beat faster, the realization drifting through her mind, _he’s jealous, too,_ as he came closer. Someone groped at her ass through the dress, making her sidestep, and she watched Cullen’s eyes flare, practically incandescent as his walk became a prowl, head lowering in an act of shameless aggression. The Duke squeaked, the hand disappearing from her back as he beat a hasty retreat.

When Cullen finally stood in front of her, her skin was flushed, her mouth dry.

“May I have a moment of your time, Inquisitor?” he rumbled, eyes locked on hers. His tone was carefully controlled, absent any trace of the anger and jealousy she could see in the twitching muscle in his jaw, the burning in his eyes. It left her hot in her own skin, warmth flooding between her legs.

“Of course, Commander,” she managed, voice surprisingly steady. She settled herself on his arm, letting him lead her out the main doors into the foyer. He continued up the steps into the darkened hallway leading to the locked library, finally stopping in front of one of the windows that spilled silver moonlight into the palace like water, scattering across the floor and casting half of him into shadow. A few nobles still meandered, a curious face or two peering up the steps.

Heedless of the eyes on them, he lifted one gloved hand to her jaw, sliding slowly down to her throat, fingers sweeping back into her hair to tilt her head up. Even expecting the kiss, she moaned at the intensity. The kiss was fierce as he settled his lips over hers, demanding, harsh, _claiming_ her. Her hands leapt up to his shoulders, clenching in his coat. He was growling against her lips, a near-constant rumble as his tongue swept into her mouth, stealing her breath as she gasped. He tasted like champagne, the sweetness from the one glass he’d allowed himself lingering on her own tongue. His other hand had dropped to her hip, rubbing circles in the cloth, bunching the fabric, staking his own claim where another had touched.

Cullen bit, kissed, backing her up against the window, the glass a sudden chill along the exposed skin of her spine. Goosebumps raced along her flesh, Cullen exhaling slowly through his nose when she shivered, her fingers tangling in his hair. When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard, lips swollen and wet. He dropped his head, pressing his face to her neck to lay another soft kiss along her skin. Another shudder ran through her when she felt the word he mouthed across her flesh: _Mine_.

“Josephine said no marks,” she whispered.

“But you’d like it, wouldn’t you?” he said, a dark hunger sliding through his voice. “Let them all know that you were taken by me. I could leave more than one, so that no matter which way you turned, they’d know.”

She dropped her head to his shoulder with a whine, missing the heavy fur of his mantle to hide her flushed skin. Maker’s breath, she was _burning_ inside her dress. “As if you didn’t have the same problem.” Her own hand dropped to his rear, digging her fingers into the hard muscle beneath his trousers. He rocked her back against the glass with a warning growl, but she was shameless as her own jealousy spun thoughts through her mind.

She lifted her face to nose along his jaw, lips settling just above the high collar of his jacket.  "Did Josie warn _you_ about having marks, Cullen?“

It was his turn to shudder as she waited for an answer, knowing from the tension in him that he’d heard the true question running beneath her words.

“She did not.”

Her mouth latched onto his throat eagerly, his hiss of her name, _“Gwen!”_ , going unheeded as she sucked carefully, tugging the stiff collar of his coat down so that the mark would be _mostly_ covered. He leaned into her, his breathing growing heavy, shielding her from onlookers as best he could. The glass behind her rattled, his clenched fist slamming against the window frame when she caught his skin carefully between her teeth.

“I-I want to—” he groaned, rocking into her, almost crushing her against the window, _not that she minded_. She could hazard a guess what he wanted, even if they hadn’t taken that last step together. The heat coming off him, the hardness at her hip, the way he almost snarled into her hair as she lapped away the sting of her bite, told her they might not be waiting much longer.

“There,” she murmured, dropping one last kiss to his throat. “Solves the problem for at least one of us.”

“Temptress,” he huffed, tilting her head back to kiss her again, hungry and slow. “And what do you have to show for this?”

“Oh, my hair’s no doubt all tangled by now, thanks to your hands, Commander.” She winked. “I’m certain tongues will wag.”

* * *

The mark, true to her word, had people talking. Just the edge rose above his collar, but it was easy enough to spot when you stood as close as his admirers did. Some seemed scandalized at such a blatant disregard for the rules, while others appeared delighted that the Inquisitor, _for you noticed, did you not, that she left on his arm? And her mussed hair when she returned? No, for shame! The Lady Inquisitor? Oh yes, my dears, a most excellent move on her part!_ appeared to have captured their prize for the evening, moving off with giggles and fluttering hands.

Cullen couldn’t even bring himself to act contrite when Josephine cornered him—easier to do when he wasn’t surrounded by quite so many people. He smirked at Guinevere from across the hall as she slipped out the door to continue her hunt.

Absolutely worth it.


	8. Forbidden Kiss (Cullen x F!Inquisitor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one haunted me a little. In a good, heated sort of way.
> 
> Takes place a little after A Dream That One Night Came A-Knockin’ in their timeline, and has references to the events therein, but not required reading.
> 
> NSFW-ish.
> 
> Prompt: Forbidden kiss  
> Pairing: Cullen x F!Inquisitor

She couldn’t get him out of her mind.

It was wrong, ridiculous, bad timing, and a whole host of other things on what was becoming a very long list of reasons why she should not desire her own fucking Commander. Guinevere tossed in bed, lifting hands up to dig in her hair, tugging at the strands in a futile attempt to distract herself.

They’d only known each other for a little while. He was a templar, or former templar, rather, while she was a mage. He was her adviser, and the Commander of her forces. She had a mark on her hand and needed a clear mind. He basically _worked_ for her, and any move she made…

“It would be wrong,” she whispered, thoughts spinning past things she couldn’t have, visions of Cullen’s skin, parted lips, moonlight in his hair. Moaning, growling, gasping her name. “Fuck.”

Definitely time for a walk in the cold, nighttime Haven air. She didn’t bother with much more than a loose tunic and trousers over her boots. She’d begun to adjust to the cold of the mountains, and she welcomed the chill as she stepped out the door of her cabin, loosing the ties of her shirt near the collar. It wasn’t exactly proper for a holy figure to be showing a bit of skin, but it was dark, there were only a few guards patrolling, and she was entirely too flushed to give a damn.  

Still, she kept to the quieter alleys and tiny, muddy paths, following a well-worn circuit that had become a comfort to her these past few months. The ground was slick with muck, drawing most of her attention as she turned down a small alley, hoping to find refuge in the little copse of trees at the end. She never even saw the figure turning the corner until she’d crashed into them.

A rather indelicate squawk escaped her as they both flailed, booted feet skidding across the slimy earth before a callused hand caught her arm, stopping her from what would have been a messy, muddy fall. The resulting tug rocked her back to her feet, her free hand landing on their shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she groaned, closing her eyes, contemplating banging her head against their muscled chest until she knocked herself out. _Some Herald, traipsing around at all hours, slipping in mud and barging into people._ She finally lifted her head at a familiar chuckle.

“I do believe I was at least partially involved, Herald.”

_Oh, Maker. Really?_

Cullen tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips while her heart skipped a few beats before lodging in her throat like the bastard it was. His eyes dropped from hers, a blush tinting his cheeks, adorably shy compared to his usual demeanor as he directed his soldiers. The lack of armor and heavy fur made him seem smaller, younger somehow.

“But I’m the one supposedly blessed. I should… be more aware.” She’s surprised at how breathless she sounded, wincing internally. But Cullen was _close_. When he’d pulled her back from her fall, she must have staggered in. She could feel his breath puff across her skin as his nostrils flared, could see the way his eyes locked on hers. The warmth of his body sang to her. _Too close. Dangerous, Guinevere._ She needed to back away, needed to—

“Are you certain you’re alright?” He hadn’t let go of her wrist, his thumb brushing over her pulse point. The teasing caress may have been unintentional, but her thoughts had been lingering on him for hours and it was exactly what her body wanted, if not her mind. She swallowed a soft sound at the pulse of arousal between her legs, darting her eyes to his as she licked her lips, hoping she’d hidden her quiet moan.

He’d frozen, eyes wide at her reaction. She wanted to groan, or maybe _crawl away and hide forever_. An apology was on her tongue because this was so, so inappropriate of her, when something changed. Cullen’s thumb swiped over the fragile skin again, firmer this time, his eyes dark and unreadable when she bit her lip, blushing, annoyance briefly clawing inside her chest at her own weakness. “Cullen, I—”

He stepped forward, intruding into her space. She yielded in surprise, trying to give him room but he followed until she found her back against the cold stone of the building along the alleyway. His scent enveloped her, inescapable, intoxicating, different without his armor and his fur mantle. It was getting harder to breathe, and she couldn’t stop herself from grasping at his shirt along his hips, twisting her hands in the fabric.

Cullen’s hands slapped at the wall on either side of her as he leaned in, caging her with his body. This close, she could see his pupils dilated, the flush on his cheeks, the tension in his jaw. She tilted her head up without thinking: wanting, _needing_ a kiss despite everything. His head dipped to the side at the last minute, his course changing, forehead resting against the wall over her shoulder as he shuddered.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispered, voice broken.

“I don’t know.” Her own thoughts cycled, reason attempting to reassert itself. She turned her head, her cheek brushing along his temple as her eyes closed, as she struggled for control. Oh, Andraste, she _wanted_. “We shouldn’t… I’m trying to…”

Another muffled whisper from him, words Guinevere barely caught, _‘just once, just to see,’_ as he nuzzled gently across her bared throat. Her hands clenched tighter in his shirt as his mouth opened along her skin, hot puffs of air panted across her collarbone. Her breath left her in a great gasp at the softest flick of his tongue as he _tasted_.

“Cullen!”

His mouth settled more firmly on her skin at her cry of his name, a groan leaving him before he suckled greedily, lapping at her like he couldn’t get enough. Things were hazy around the edges of her vision, blood pumping thick and molten in her veins. _This can’t be happening_ , she thought, mind scattering like a flock of doves at the first touch of his hand grasping hungrily at her hip, sliding up under her tunic to rasp hotly along her flank, sparking yet more sensation and leaving her shaking as she lifted a leg to wrap around his waist. She almost tore his shirt when she felt his teeth scrape along her throat, when he _moaned_. She whimpered as his mouth left her, soft huffs of breath letting her know he was just as affected.

One of her hands had tangled in his hair at some point, scratching through the unwinding curls. His lips brushed over her cheek, traced her jaw, headed for her mouth, and _no, this was wrong, all wrong,_ but she didn’t dare stop it. When his gaze met hers, his eyes were nearly black with hunger. Something halted him just shy of kissing her, however, and his lips hovered temptingly over hers instead, breath fanning along her skin.

“Guinevere, we shouldn't—” he rasped.

“Cullen, _please._ ” Her smalls were soaked through, arousal throbbing _yesyesyes_ between her legs as she gasped for air, driving away all thoughts of just _why_ they shouldn’t. Her fingers tightened in his hair, making him shiver when her nails trailed across his scalp at just the right pressure to have his jaw going slack.

Eyes half-closed, swaying, he rocked forward. So close, not close enough, his open lips ghosted over hers: the softest, barest touch, light as a prayer. The word rumbled from him, different, intimate, spilling from his tongue unbidden: “ _Gwen_ …”

“Commander?”

Cullen reared back as if he’d been slapped, retreating from her immediately until he stood a respectful, proper distance for an adviser. She could just hear the splash as the patrolling guardsman strode through a puddle to poke his head around the corner. Guinevere tugged her shirt back into place where it had ridden up, cheeks burning. She couldn’t even bring herself to look up as Cullen growled a few words down the alley before rather more frantic splashes echoed as the poor guard hurried away to do something that wasn’t quite so dangerous as interrupting his Commander.   
  
The moment broken, the silence threatened to devour them as they struggled to speak.

“I should—”

“I need to—”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, a tension settling between the two of them. “I apologize,” he said quietly. “That was inappropriate.”

“It was partially my fault, anyway,” she muttered, unintentionally mirroring his earlier words. Cullen huffed what sounded like a laugh. She glanced up nervously, matching the hesitant smile that tugged at his scar. Maybe… she could fix this. _Andraste, if I am blessed, please don’t let me ruin it._ “Are we… are we alright?”

“If you’d like us to be,” he said slowly. As if the decision rested on _her_ ; as if it were somehow _his_ fault. _As if I’d want anything else. You’re done for, Guinevere_ , she thought.

“Very much so.” Her voice was quiet, cautious. She didn’t reach for him, not now, as much as she wanted to reassure both herself and him that this soft, fragile friendship between them hadn’t been broken. The worry fluttered inside her, too: that anything closer than _this_ would drag them back down that path they’d come so close to following.

His relief was palpable at her answer, his shoulders dropping as he relaxed. “Good.” Cullen nodded, his eyes flicking to hers before skittering away nervously. “Good,” he repeated, almost to himself rather than her. “Then I’ll say goodnight here. I need to co—” he seemed to stumble over his words before regaining his composure. “—walk around for a bit longer.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to keep you,” she said, fiddling with the hem of her tunic as she started down the street, retreating— _not running away. It’s only running away if you run. Retreat is different!_ —like she should have done when this all started. She could certainly do with some alone time herself. “Goodnight, Cullen.”

“Goodnight, Guinevere.”

It only occurred to her when she was safely back in her cabin, biting her fist as she tried to fall asleep despite the tempting new thoughts, that he’d called her _Gwen_.


	9. Drunk Kiss (Alistair x F!Cousland)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're back! And hurrying to get prompts done before Nanowrimo!
> 
> Drunk Kiss. 
> 
> Alistair x Ophelia Cousland.

"Oh, blast it."

Ophelia cracked one bleary eye open. Her tent was dark, the lantern long since snuffed out for the night. The moon shone brightly outside, throwing stark shadows against the outside of the canvas. Too cool for comfort, her toes curled inside her bedroll as her eyes sought out the shadow that had stumbled into her tent. Another curse cut her confusion short.

"Alistair?" she mumbled. "What are you doing?"

He staggered closer to her, tripping over her pack and knocking her gear aside. "'s cold. You _hate_ the cold. Bad, bad little cold. Couldn't leave you alone."

She buried her face in her pillow with a groan as he dropped to his knees beside her. The slurred speech told her all she needed to know. "Alistair, you're drunk."

"Maa- _aaybe_ ," he hiccuped, yanking her blankets aside, ignoring her hiss as the chilled air sent goosebumps racing along her skin. Oh, she _knew_ he was drunk now. No one sober exposed her to the cold. "Or maybe I was conderc... codcer... _worried._ "

"Of course that's the only reason," she grunted as he flopped down beside her, just barely stopping himself from collapsing on top of her. _Well, he's warm at least._ And he was _also_ tugging insistently at her sleep shirt.

"Fi? Zevvy gave me this stuff and it was _horrible_ but only at first. Got easier on... I can't remember which number of mugs. The one with the squiggles."

She curled her hands tighter in the blankets, determined to ignore him as he leaned over her back. Warm breath along the nape of her neck had her shivering, the sensation followed quickly by his mouth as he kissed the back of her neck.

"Love how you smell, Fi," he slurred happily, arm tightening around her waist as he relaxed into an affectionate— _very heavy_ —sprawl, nuzzling through her hair. "You smell so nice. Like cookies and leather and happy things even when you actually smell bad like things we just killed. You make me happy."

"Go to sleep, Alistair."

"Want to cuddle first."

She twisted underneath him, rolling herself over until she was lying on her back and he settled his weight over her. Eyes long-since adjusted to the dark, she could easily make out his ruffled hair, the cheeks flushed red with drink. His eyes were glassy as he beamed at her, eyes crinkling at the corners as he kneaded greedy hands along her hips. He dropped his head, touching their noses together before clumsily crushing his mouth to hers.

She chuckled against his lips, tangling her fingers lightly in his hair to tug as he parted her lips eagerly, sliding his tongue into her mouth with little finesse and a whole lot of enthusiasm. He tasted like ale, mint, a hot glide as he twined his tongue with hers. Then he sighed into her mouth.

Ophelia jerked her head away with a grunt, lip curling. "Ugh, Alistair, you smell like a tavern floor."

"Love kissing you. Want to kiss you all the time, even when you have darkspawn blood on you," he breathed, planting sloppy kisses along her jaw. He rocked his hips forward, making her squirm at the friction. His movements may have been awkward, but they lacked his usual caution, and the confidence was... arousing, to say the least. It figured that he finally wanted to do this when he was _drunk_.

"Is that so?" she sighed, tilting her head back, exposing her throat further as he licked his way down to her pulse point to suck lightly. A pleasant tingle had begun between her legs, and she had to remind herself that this _particular_ round of affection wasn't going to lead to anything. She couldn't let this go _too_ far.

"Love your skin, too. Tastes good. Want to know how you taste everywhere." He kept heading down, teeth scraping at her collarbone as she flushed down to her toes. To hear him talk like this was... unexpected. She bit her lip at the guilt. He'd never be saying this if he was sober.

"Love love love," he hummed. She stiffened, only just muffling her squawk of surprise and laughter as he tugged her loose shirt down and buried his face between her breasts without hesitation, stubble scratching roughly along the sensitive skin. "I never knew they were so _soft_! Maker, I love these already, and I don't even know them yet."

"Oh, you have _definitely_ had too much." She bit her lip to stifle her own giggles as he sighed happily, rubbing his nose up and down over her skin. "Just..." She reached down to ruffle his hair fondly. "Come up here and go to sleep."

"Or," he said deviously, tilting his head up just enough to lock eyes with her. He blinked lazily, eyes half closed as his head drooped sideways, resting his cheek on her breast. "I could just stay here and make friends all night."

"You are going to be _so_ embarrassed come morning, if you even remember this. "

"Love how you remember things."

"Ok. I'm going to close my eyes now and we're both going to go to sleep." She dropped her head back, determinedly closing her eyes.

"Love sleeping with you."

She bit her lip again, counting backwards. She would _not_ comment on that. Except she didn't have to as he began to giggle at his own unintentional innuendo.

"Not _that_ kind of sleeping, but I think I'd love that, too. Not that I'd know. But I could. Unlike Stuart. He'll never know."

She couldn't resist her question as he rambled. "Stuart? Who's Stuart?"

A long pause before Alistair spoke, clearly and so quietly she had to strain to hear him: "A menace who can _never find his goat again."_ He twisted to press a sleepy kiss to her skin. "But that doesn't matter. He'll never find it now. And I don't love him. I love someone else."

She froze, breath catching in her throat as his voice dropped to a whisper. "Fi, I..." She waited for him to continue.

And waited.

And waited.

A soft snore had her lifting her head. Alistair, eyes closed, cheeks still flushed, had finally lost the fight against unconsciousness, face planted once more between her breasts. She raised her eyes to stare helplessly at the ceiling of her tent. "I," she muttered, "am going to _kill_ Zevran."


	10. Hickey (Cullen x Guinevere Trevelyan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was fun! 
> 
> NSFW. 
> 
> Minor reference back to the Forbidden Kiss in Chapter 8, because I'm a sucker for continuity.
> 
> Pairing: Cullen x Guinevere Trevelyan  
> Prompt: Hickey

The mad scramble that was the preparation for their journey in two days time to the Winter Palace made it easy enough to sneak out of the Main Hall and up to the peace of Cullen's office—one of the few quiet places left in Skyhold. Guinevere couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as she leaned her back against the cool wooden door, free for the moment from the myriad of tasks that awaited the Inquisitor. Cullen chuckled where he sat at his desk, quill still scratching lightly across parchment. "Should I expect Josephine to break down my door at any minute looking for you?" he asked mildly.

She grimaced as she pushed off from the door, her stride easy as she sauntered towards him. "You joke, Ser, but I'll be diving under that desk of yours should she come knocking."

He smiled up at her, eyes crinkling at the corners as she rounded his desk. "Duly noted." He leaned back in his chair, twirling the quill in his hands as she took the opportunity to slide between him and the desk. If she hadn't been watching for it, she'd have missed his quick appraisal as his eyes scanned down her body, the briefest clench of his fingers on the quill. She'd have been lying if she said she wasn't doing a little admiring herself.

She reached out, touching lightly along his shirtsleeve. "No armor today?" she asked, rubbing the pale material between her fingers as he shook his head. The fabric was soft and worn under her touch, warm from the heat of his skin. She had to resist the urge to lick her lips at the thought of just _how_ warm. "You're looking positively _vulnerable,_ Commander."

He smirked up at her, scar turning it into something decidedly wicked. "I assure you, I am _quite_ safe. Unless you have something more sinister planned then simply distracting me?" His hand twisted up, palm rasping along her arm to catch and lace their fingers together.

"I _may_ be here for more than a discussion on Inquisition matters," she admitted. "If you have some time, that is."

"I have a few more hours before Rylen's due to arrive."

"Excellent." She grinned, leaning forward to brace herself on his chair with a hand on each armrest, determined to enjoy what might be their last private moment together until they returned to Skyhold after Halamshiral. His scent grew stronger as she hovered over him, elderflower and leather, oak moss and metal as he spread his legs further to accommodate her. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a slow, deep breath.

"And here I thought you were going to ask me to take a stroll for some fresh air," he laughed quietly, tossing the quill to the desk and lifting a hand to trace his thumb along her jaw. His movements had become more confident since he'd kissed her on the battlements some months ago. Her... _enthusiastic_ responses to his touch helped, no doubt.

"I'm hiding here, remember?" she murmured, distracted by the scar along his lip and her increasing desire to trace her tongue over it. "A walk means I'll be found for sure."

He hummed a quiet sound, tugging her forward to press his lips to hers. Unhurried, he kissed her like they had all the time in the world, breath mingling as she sighed against his mouth. His other hand settled on her hip, pressing lightly until she got the message and slid onto his lap, wedging her legs comfortably between his own and the arms of the chair. The rough groan as her weight settled over him shot straight between her legs.

The kiss was slow and languid, and she parted her lips eagerly to him, welcoming the hot slide of his tongue against her own with a moan. One of his hands began to knead at her hip as the other tugged at the tie holding her hair until it fell away, letting him sink his fingers into the red locks. She slitted her eyes open to watch him. Each sweep of their tongues deepened the flush on his cheeks, and when his own eyes opened, they were glassy, the amber gone dark with hunger.

"Cullen," she whispered, gasping when he rocked his hips up in response, the rapidly-hardening length inside his trousers grinding against her core wonderfully. She braced herself with her hands on his shoulders, bearing down, nipping at his lower lip as pleasure began to pool between her legs.

His hand in her hair fisted, tugging her head back to expose her throat. "This skin of yours, Gwen," he sighed, nuzzling against her. His stubble rasped, burning against her increasingly-sensitive skin as his tongue darted out to taste. "I could barely control myself when I cornered you in that alley back in Haven."

She whined, rolling her hips at the memory. That little incident had fueled her fantasies for _months_ , leaving her wet and aching on more than one occasion when she woke too soon, covered in sweat and burning with arousal.

He chuckled darkly against her throat, sliding his fingers slowly under her tunic, feathering across her hip. "I was so ashamed when I saw that mark on your neck. And yet all I wanted was to leave more."

"Feel free to do so," she breathed.

He paused in his ministrations, seemingly frozen beneath her. "I..." He licked his lips, making her groan as his tongue brushed over her throat. "The Winter Palace is in two days." he said finally. "The marks-"

"I know a healer, remember?"

"How silly of me to forget," he rumbled, nosing along the underside of her jaw before settling his mouth hungrily over her pulse point. And oh, _oh,_ the wet sounds as he began to suckle, the heated sweep of his tongue had her moaning, grinding against him. This scenario had played out many times in her mind, and they'd nipped at each other before, but this was far more intentional, the steady suction and determined scrape of his teeth leaving no doubt as to Cullen's intentions.

She thought he was finished as he pulled back to blow along the wet skin of her throat, but her sigh turned into a yelp as he latched on again, this time at the juncture of her shoulder and neck. _He's going to leave them all over_ , she realized, thoughts hazy as his hand beneath her tunic jerked the fabric to expose more of her skin. She tangled her fingers in his hair as she struggled to breathe, blood molten in her veins when he growled possessively beneath her hands, chest rumbling against her own. He'd begun to move underneath her again: slow, tiny thrusts upwards.

His hand kept climbing, calloused palm flat against the skin of her back, sweeping hotly up her spine. He bit down on her collarbone when he reached her shoulder blades unimpeded. "No breast band?"A tortured sound escaped him. "Maker's breath, Gwen."

She managed a laugh when his lips brushed the top of her breasts, the call of the horn outside barely registering. "Didn't know I'd need one today."

"The things I want to do to you," he purred, a broad, flat sweep of his tongue along her skin before he headed for the opposite side of her neck, no doubt intending to brand the other side as he had the first. "You'd kill me if you knew."

She shoved him backwards, and he hit the back of his chair with a grunt. This time it was _her_ that tugged his head back, _her_ mouth that bit down on his throat, eager for revenge and burning from his touch. His breath hitched, body jerking underneath her as she lapped at his skin. _Sensitive skin, hm, Commander?_ The moan she pulled from him when she bit down was positively obscene, her toes curling in her boots. His breath came harsh, panting in her ear before his head dove and he took to suckling along her neck again, each trying to outdo the other and leave as many marks as possible. His hand beneath her shirt had just risen to her breast, callused thumb rasping and headed for pebbled, uncharted skin when someone pounded at the door.

"Commander! Rylen's arrived!"

Her head jerked up but Cullen ignored it, continuing to bite and lick his way across her skin defiantly. "C-Cullen," she stuttered, whimpering when his breath blew heavily over her wet collarbone. She fisted her hands in his shirt.

"They can wait," he growled. "He's two hours early."

The door handle began to turn. "Open that door," he snarled over her shoulder. "And you'll long for a post in the Deep Roads."

Silence grew heavy before a quiet, _"Yes, Commander,"_ and the sound of retreating footsteps reached their ears.

Cullen sighed, burying his face against her neck as she stroked his hair. "Well," she said. "We couldn't exactly hide forever."

"We should just bar the door," he muttered.

"Josephine would burn it down."

Cullen snorted, finally lifting his head. The moment may have been lost, but the touch of his lips to hers was still warm and affectionate. "Our next moment alone won't be interrupted. You have my word."

Someone knocked at the door again. Unlike the first, _this_ knock somehow managed to convey the amusement of the person on the other side. "Am I also to be sent far, far away should I attempt to enter, Commander?" Rylen called. "I suppose you could replace me with the lad who ran off, but we both know he'd not keep the rabble away like I can."

"A moment, Rylen," Cullen barked. Guinevere slid from his lap, straightening her shirt and helping Cullen do the same. She raised a brow when he didn't rise from his chair, scooting it closer to his desk instead. His cheeks reddened, eyes darting away from her as he coughed. "Would you let him in? I'm a bit, ah-"

"Of course." She smirked, kissing him one last time, reveling in his quiet sigh, before making her way to the door. "I'll see you at the meeting later." The man on the other side of the door grinned at her as soon as she opened it, taking in her flushed appearance and the multitude of love bites scattered across her skin.

"Your Worship," he drawled. "You're looking well."

_Cheeky bastard._

"Knight-Captain." She nodded as she strolled past.

The reminders of Cullen's mouth on her for the next two days were more than worth the thirty-minute lecture she got from Josephine about Orlesian politics.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me (and the kiss prompt) on tumblr at harbinger-of-whimsy!


End file.
